


The Dreams of Incubi

by poisontaster



Category: Supernatural, The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Evolution, Gen, Past Relationship(s), Sibling Incest, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-04
Updated: 2006-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:10:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5390549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream!Sam, after Nymeria's <a href="http://booterang.livejournal.com/tag/hush%20%28don%27t%20tell%20a%20soul%29">Hush (Don't Say a Word).</a> Familiarity with Neil Gaiman's Sandman characters not really necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dreams of Incubi

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted more. nymeria said I could have it…if I wrote it myself. So I did.

It…

Wait, no.

It once was an it and now it's a he.

Okay. So _he_.

He sits and waits and waits to die.

Except…it doesn't seem to be happening as quickly as he thought it would.

Before too long, he's vaguely hungry.

Instead of focusing on that—and the theoretical ways in which that hunger might be appeased—he focuses on his newly-given identity and all the memories that had come with it.

 _"I don't know what I am anymore,"_ he'd said once, teetering on the brink between _it_ and _he_.

And Dean said, _"You're Sam,"_ in that tone that excluded all possibility of anything _but_ Sam.

And then he was Sam.

Dean's Sam. Sam, the Beautiful. Sam, the Smart. Sam, the Funny.

Sam, the Beloved.

It—he, by then—hadn't known. He hadn't _known_.

What it tasted like, love. Love that intense, that consuming. Love like a drug.

And like a drug, addictive, dangerous, changing him in ways he didn't understand, didn't even _see_ until too late.

Until he was stuck.

But, hunger and growing boredom aside, he doesn't regret it. He can't.

_You're Sam._

What Dean gave him, what Dean _made him_ eclipses anything he thought he could be.

"This wasn’t supposed to happen," a familiar voice says behind him.

He turns. "Dean!"

He flings himself at his brother, wraps himself around him, arms and legs, burying his face in that familiar neck. He is dizzy, incandescent with relief, with joy. "Oh, God, _Dean!_ "

He trails off suddenly, stiffens.

When he pulls back, his sinking suspicions are correct and it's not his beloved's bright eyes he's looking into. He looks instead into starlit infinities, so deep and vast they give him vertigo, as if he might untether and drift away in them, lost forever. His limbs loosen and he would fall, if not for the pseudo-Dean reaching out with both hands to catch him by the arms.

"Dean?" he asks plaintively, still helplessly hoping against hope even though he knows the truth.

"No," the Dean says. In his voice is enough compassion to make Sam cringe.

He nods once, sick as he was once elated, and starts to go to his knees. "My Lord."

He knows him, of course; they all do. These are his realms and ultimately, they are his creatures.

Morpheus, Lord of the Dreaming, Endless.

He shouldn't feel this burning sear of disappointment. Lord Morpheus doesn't visit with creatures as lowly as he. This is an honor unprecedented, exalted. But all he can think is, _Not Dean. Not Dean, after all._

"Don't," Morpheus says, catching Sam's arms again before he can kneel. The seeming of Dean is starting to fade—mercifully—and now Sam can see the underneath. It's only another seeming, to be sure, but it's Lord Morpheus's preferred one, and one that doesn't cause so much ache to see. Inhuman eyes regard him calculatingly and the Lord of Dreams asks him, "What am I to do with you, little dreamlet? This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to change." He surveys Sam up and down and for the first time since becoming, Sam is aware of his nakedness. Stifled with embarrassment, blushing hot all across his skin, Sam jerks a pillow from the bed to hide behind.

"Just let me die," he says. It comes out more viciously than he expects and he sinks down to the bed's edge as the strength goes out of his legs.

"I could do that," Morpheus agrees, sinking to his haunches so they're of a like height. His pale hands clasp between his knees and Sam fixes on them. Morpheus's head tilts in his peripheral, like a bird, a raven. "But is that what you really want?"

"I'm no good to anyone like this!" Sam says bitterly, throwing up his hands. "Least of all myself." He feels tears threatening again but he's already cried once and vague rumblings from his testicles whisper discomfort at the idea, so he blinks them back.

"But you could be," Morpheus observes. He reaches forward and takes one of Sam's hands, turning it back and forth between his own. He looks into Sam's eyes and again, Sam's hypnotized by that same sense of vertigo, anchored only by the cool fingers enclosing his hand. "You did something…very interesting. Something none of your brethren have ever done before."

"What's that?" Sam whispers.

Morpheus smiles. "You evolved."

"And that's a good thing?"

Morpheus considers, his expression like he's listening to music from another room. "It could be. Why don't we go find out?" He rises and holds out his hand.

Sam looks at him, biting his lip. Sam-the-real is smart, which means he is smart. But he doesn't feel smart. Just lost and lonely and sore. "Will…will I get to see Dean again?"

"Perhaps. This is the Dreaming, little one. Prediction is…not an art that works very well surrounded by infinite possibility. In fact, it can be downright dangerous. But, in infinite possibility, all things are indeed possible." It smiles at him and Sam shivers at the cold understanding of that smile. "Are you so sure you'd rather stay here and die, instead?"

And when he puts it like that.

When he stands, he has on clothes, his first ever. He looks down at himself, marveling. _Almost like a real boy,_ he thinks. "Did you do that?"

Morpheus shakes his head. "No. _You_ did." He holds out his hand again. "Are you ready?"

Sam looks back at the bed. Dean is with Sam-the-real now; Sam knows without a shadow of a doubt that Dean will never come back here, never look for him. But this is where Dean loved him, this is where he became and a part of him is scared of leaving it behind.

Oh the other hand…

Seven hundred years, and it took him this long to become this. Who knows what might happen in the next seven hundred.

"Yes," he says, turning to Morpheus. "I am. I'm ready."

He takes those cool, infinite fingers and steps forward, into something, somewhere else.

**Author's Note:**

> So as I mentioned before, I've been sort of intimately acquainted with the genesis of nymeria's story. I pitched plot arc with her, I got to see as it was written and even make suggestions in a few places. She let me write the freaking epilogue, the wonderful darling. 
> 
> And when she was writing the 'break-up' between Dream!Sam and Dean, I found myself suddenly stricken with the pathos of this poor creature that had somewhat innocuously come into Dean's dreams looking for not much more than to feed and provide a little pleasure along the way, and had ended up getting sucked up into the Winchester's insane love for each other to such a degree that it had become something different from it's own kind. As I said (through Morpheus), it had evolved. And as a result, it was going to die, unable to move on and equally unable to continue with Dean, for obvious reasons.
> 
> I mean…come on. If ever there was something that had "PT will love this" written all over it, it's this story, right? Dean's love changed it. How awesome is that? And how senseless and cruel that it would now have to die (not that I'm knocking Nym in ANY way, because she totally made all the right choices for her story). But I wanted to find a way to save it. Because after all that, I felt it deserved to live. And Nym felt pretty much the same, giving me permission and blessing in one to create this little tale. And then technosage did some enabling and here we are.


End file.
